


Same Old Tired, Lonely Place

by sisyfoots



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Grocery Store Shenanigans, I suppose, M/M, Probably Takes Place like... Before Raven King, Sharing a Bed, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisyfoots/pseuds/sisyfoots
Summary: He stood in the aisle and listened aimlessly to the pop music crackling through the speakers. “Billboard 5000 shit or whatever the fuck,” Ronan would call it. Something generic that reminded him of what would be on the radio when he was a kid.He was just about to give up and go to the register when he heard a whistle from across the store. “Hey, Parrish!” Adam flinched, nervously dragging his gaze over the shelves and towards the direction the sound was coming from. Then he could see Ronan’s leather bands jutting over the rows of shelves, a packet in his hand. “What size dick you wear?”
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96





	1. Grocery Shopping at 12 AM for Some Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys. First fic ever sooooooo yeah. I got the phrase "what size dick you wear" stuck in my head and figured I should write something about it. Enjoy xoxo.

“Absolutely not. Put that shit down, Lynch.” Adam fixed him with a cool stare. Ronan responded with an equally charged sneer. 

“The fuck’s your problem, Parrish? It’s crackers.”

Adam rolled his eyes, resigning himself to an already lost battle. “I don’t need them,” he said, turning away. 

“Who the hell said anything about you?” Ronan bit, slamming the box of crackers into Adam’s basket. “I haven’t had shit all day.”

Adam looked over his shoulder and met Ronan’s challenging glare. Did he want to fight? Not really. Usually, he didn’t mind it. The rush that came from snapping back when Ronan said something particularly crude or offensive. It was a shot of straight adrenaline into his veins, something he never got the couple times he tried to fight back against his dad. 

But tonight? It had to be closing in on midnight, and at that point he just wanted to get his groceries and go home. Home. He frowned, grabbing a can of beans off the shelf (they were filling and cheap, and to be honest, he didn’t mind the taste). When did his room above St. Agnes become home? Was it home, or just a holding place? Just another train stop on his way out of town.  
It was better than the alternatives, he supposed. His bedroom in the trailer, the streets, even promise of a room at Monmouth put a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Slowly blinking, he came back into himself and realized that he had been staring at the can of beans for far longer than was socially acceptable. Not that anyone was looking. The convenience store was dead except for him, Ronan, and the cashier. And with a quick glance around him, he noticed that Ronan wasn’t even there.

Adam dropped the can into his basket next to a loaf of bread, a half gallon of milk, a can of coffee, and Ronan’s crackers. Ronan’s damn crackers, he reminded himself, not my responsibility. Not anything I have to worry about.

He couldn’t think of anything else he needed immediately. At some point, he would have to get new socks and boxers and a set of pencils for school, but he could do without for a couple more weeks. He set the basket on the ground and dug in the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing his eye with the heel of the other. His hand smelt like gasoline. Dirty, he thought with a sigh. If he could walk into his apartment without falling over, he would take a shower. If not, well. He wasn’t sure it would do anything anyway. 

Frowning, he pulled his hand out of his pocket and shoved it in the other, scrounging around for his hastily constructed grocery list.   
“Shit,” he muttered. He must have left it behind. “Shit.” He ran a hand through his dusty hair and hoped to God he wasn’t forgetting anything important. He pulled his other hand out of his pocket and let it curl into a tight fist by his side. “Shit. Damn.” 

It’s just a damn list, he tried to reason. But he was forgetting things. It started with small things, then it was bigger things until he was forgetting homework assignments and shifts at Boyd’s. Then everything would crumble. 

I need to sleep, he thought wearily. I really, really need to sleep. 

He looked down at his meager haul and let the tension fall out of his shoulders. This would do. He would get the other stuff another day, maybe on a day when he had more energy to spend. Maybe on a day when he remembered his damn grocery list when he went to the grocery store. 

He picked the basket up and glanced around the aisle again, hoping Ronan would just appear so he didn’t have to go looking for him. He waited for a minute. Then two. But no Ronan. For a brief moment, Adam wondered if he had just gotten bored and left. A year ago, even a few months ago, Adam wouldn’t have put it past him. 

But these days, Ronan seemed more than content with following around in Adam’s shadow–sleeping on the splintered floors of St. Agnes, doing his Latin homework without telling him while he was in the shower (against his wishes), hovering outside Boyd’s watching him when he was working and thought he wasn’t paying attention. 

He stood in the aisle and listened aimlessly to the pop music crackling through the speakers. “Billboard 5000 shit or whatever the fuck,” Ronan would call it. Something generic that reminded him of what would be on the radio when he was a kid.

He was just about to give up and go to the register when he heard a whistle from across the store. “Hey, Parrish!” Adam flinched, nervously dragging his gaze over the shelves and towards the direction the sound was coming from. Then he could see Ronan’s leather bands jutting over the rows of shelves, a packet in his hand. “What size dick you wear?”

Adam flushed, nauseating embarrassment boiling in his stomach. Maybe if he ignored him, Ronan would drop it. But that wasn’t how it worked, and Adam should have realized as he trudged up silently to the counter with his red face fixedly pointed at the ground, that Ronan was feeling particularly ornery that night. 

“Parrish!” Ronan repeated, waving the packet. Adam could now identify it as a pack of boxers. “I asked what size dick you wear!”

Adam made the mistake of looking up and in doing so caught the eye of the cashier, a girl that couldn’t have been much older than him. She had a hand covering her mouth, but her crinkled eyes revealed her amusement. 

He growled, turning around. “Shut up, Lynch! And get over here. We’re leaving.” His cheeks were still burning, but he felt more awake than he had in the past few hours.  
The packet dropped behind the shelves, and he could hear Ronan’s gruff laughter. Adam walked up to the counter and set his basket down, offering the cashier an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he said, carefully letting his Henrietta accent slip through. “He’s a child.”

She smiled as she scanned his groceries. “”S fine. Need a good laugh now and then. This all?” she asked, placing the final item, Ronan’s crackers, into the bag. Adam frowned. He had forgotten to take those out before they got rung up, but now was too embarrassed to ask to put them back. 

He swallowed. “Uh, yeah–”

“Nah,” Ronan cut in over his shoulder, slamming the packet of boxers down on the counter as well as a box of soap bars, a tube of toothpaste, a box of Lucky Charms, and a crinkled slip of paper littered in what Adam quickly recognized as his own handwriting. “I got this, Parrish.”

Adam glared at him. “No, you don’t,” he said, pulling out his wallet. 

Ronan bumped him roughly with his shoulder, jostling him enough to almost drop the wallet, before pulling out his own. “Yes, the fuck I do. This is half my shit anyway.”

“Then take your shit and get it separately,” Adam said, getting irritated. “I don’t have time for this.”

Ronan, ever unbending, just bared his teeth and slapped his card on the counter. “What if I gotta brush my fucking teeth, Parrish, huh? What if I gotta, I don’t fucking know. Wash my hands. You gonna stop me ‘cause it’s your shit?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “That’s not how it works.”

“Sure it is.” He nodded at the cashier. “Tell him that’s how it fucking works.”

The girl blushed, ringing up the stuff Ronan had dropped haphazardly on the counter. “I guess if he’s sayin’ so…” she trailed off with a shrug. 

“Ronan,” Adam tried again. “Please.”

Ronan held his gaze as he handed his card to the girl. “Not arguing with you when you look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet, Parrish.” He grabbed the bags and turned away from the counter. “Am I gonna have to carry your dumbass to the car?”

Adam’s eyes snapped open, and he realized he had begun leaning on the counter. “Shit, um. No. I–”

“C’mon, Parrish,” Ronan said, not any less harsh than he usually did, but the creases around his eyes had softened. “Let’s fight about it in the morning.”

Adam blinked and stumbled forward half a step before catching himself on the counter. Everything felt warm and fuzzy and just a bit not real. Like he was living in one of Ronan’s dreams and was just waiting to be pulled out into the real world. 

He sighed, following after Ronan to the door. “Fine. Tomorrow. But I’m paying you back, Lynch.”

Ronan snarled, but it lacked any real venom. “Whatever, man,” he said in a way that meant “I’d like to see you try.”

Adam pretty much blacked out the rest of the walk to the car. The BMW, not his shitbox. That was in the shop again, and Ronan had insisted on carting his sorry ass around so he didn’t have to ride his bike this late in the cold. And boy, was it ever cold.

He slipped into the passenger seat and listened to the sound of Ronan slamming the grocery bag into the back before climbing into the driver’s. “Cold as tits,” Ronan remarked thoughtfully as the car revved to life. “Cold as fucking tits.”


	2. Oh, and It Rains in Your Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is going to be three parts. We'll see... anyway here's the sharing a bed thing. Kinda. At the end. Let me know what you think xoxo.

A dull rain splattered on the windshield as they pulled up to the church. It was quickly growing stronger, slamming fat droplets on the glass that sounded as heavy as rocks.

  
Adam looked through his half-lidded eyes and watched the trail of one drop slip from the top of the windshield to the bottom until it disappeared. January rain was harsh. It was rarely cold enough for snow in Henrietta, but the rain was bad enough. He wasn’t looking forward to the bone-chilling cold of his apartment.

Ronan’s hands were still loosely gripping the wheel as he stared off in front of him. He had been quiet the whole ride back, the only sign of life being the occasional movement of his eyes or twitch of his jaw. It was uncharacteristic of him. It meant he was thinking about something.

Adam opened his eyes and stretched his arms out in front of him. “It’s late,” he said, words cut off short by a yawn.

Ronan blinked and shook his head. “Huh? Yeah.” His fingers tapped out a nonsensical rhythm on the wheel. Adam frowned. He seemed nervous.

“Uh. Do you wanna stay?” Adam cracked his knuckles and looked out the side window. He shrugged. “I think Gansey would lose his shit if I let you drive back to Monmouth in this.” The rain was much heavier now, and a hardy snap of thunder made Adam shiver.

Ronan grunted. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered.

“Just stay.” Adam rolled his eyes. “It’s too late to fight over this,” he insisted, repeating what Ronan had said in the grocery store. He popped the door open, immediately letting in a rush of raindrops and cold. “Jesus Christ!”

Ronan bared his teeth in a grin. “Can’t handle a bit of cold, Parrish?”

Adam huffed and slid out of the BMW, staring up at the dark swirling sky. “It’s more than a bit of cold, Lynch.”

He stood with his shoulders hunched and his hands under his armpits as he waited for Ronan to get out of the car. He didn’t know why he didn’t just run for the sanctity of St. Agnes, except that he wasn’t 100% sure that Ronan would actually follow him. The sound of Ronan’s boots landing on the wet ground followed by the slam of his door released Adam from his stagnancy. He quickly turned and shuffled towards the church, hoping to not be completely soaked to the bone before he got inside.

He didn’t bother turning on any lights until he got to the staircase that led up to his apartment. The light at the bottoms of the stairs stuck a bit, and the lights flickered before eventually filling the space with a sickly yellow glow.

“Should probably change that,” Ronan grunted by his good ear.

Adam shrugged, stifling a yawn. “Eh. I’ll deal with it once it goes out completely.”

He started the ascent up the crickety wooden stairs as Ronan replied, “You mean after you slip and break your fucking head open ‘cause it’s pitch black and you can’t see shit?”

Adam got to the top of the stairs and turned around, leaning on the wall next to his apartment door. He smiled. “Probably, yeah.” He fished the apartment key from his jeans pocket and slipped it into the lock.

“You’re a fucking maniac, you know that?”

Adam shrugged. “Pot. Kettle.”

The door popped open, and what little hope Adam had of his apartment being any warmer than the outdoors dissipated. He shivered as he slipped his shoes off and headed for his dresser. It didn’t matter how tired he was–he was not falling asleep in wet clothes.

After fishing out a t-shirt and flannel pants he turned back to the door to see Ronan lurking with his eyes on the floor and his hands in the pockets of his expensive-enough-to-pay-for-all-of-Adam's-Aglionby-tuition jeans. He looked more uncomfortable and out of place in Adam’s apartment than he had in weeks. And Adam was too tired to deal with his pussy-footing bull-shit.

“Want some dry clothes?” Adam said, already pulling out another t-shirt, his infamous Coca-Cola one, and a spare pair pajama bottoms.

Ronan shrugged. “I dunno, are you sure you wanna share? ‘Cause they’re your shit?” he sniped.

Adam slammed the drawer shut. “Well, your other options are sleep in those wet fucking clothes or sleep naked. Pick your poison, I guess,” he retorted, losing steam towards the second half of the sentence. He was bewildered to realize that Ronan was blushing.

“Whatever,” Ronan muttered, stepping forward and swiping the clothes from Adam. He turned towards the bathroom and stomped off, slamming the door behind him.

Adam sighed and weighed the pros and cons of hopping in the shower.

Pros: He could sleep in a bit later. He would be clean.

Cons: Fucking Cold. Fucking Tired.

He decided a shower couldn’t wait until morning. He didn’t feel like braving the cold, harsh rush of water right then, not after his jaunt through the rain, but it was better than sleeping with rain hair and smelling of gasoline (something, he had found, that was difficult to get out of his sheets).

Ronan came out of the bathroom dressed in Adam’s clothes that fit him just a bit too tight (the shirt) and a bit too short (the pants).

“I think I’m gonna clean up,” Adam yawned, blinking sleep from his eyes.

Ronan frowned. “I don’t wanna have to peel you off the shower floor and cart your sorry ass to the hospital ‘cause you passed out.”

Adam rolled his eyes, slinking to the bathroom door. “I’ve handled worse than a little fatigue, Lynch.” The door shut before he could hear Ronan’s answer.

The shower was quick and lukewarm, and he did find himself nodding off a couple times before he stepped out and toweled off, slipping into his pajamas. He didn’t have work until one the next day, so he actually planned on sleeping in. A rare luxury.

He was still towelling off his hair when he stepped out of the bathroom to find Ronan standing in the middle of the room looking rather lost. Adam cleared his throat, making Ronan flinch. “You can take the second blanket off the bed,” he said, tossing the towel into the bathroom. He would deal with it tomorrow.

Ronan scowled. “What? And leave you to freeze to death?”

“There’s two blankets,” Adam insisted, shifting from one cold foot to the other.

“Yeah, and they’re each about as thin as the shit I use to wipe my ass.” Ronan shook his head violently and reached for his leather jacket that he had slung onto Adam’s chair on his way to the bathroom. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll use this.”

Adam huffed. He wasn’t going to be responsible for Ronan dying of hypothermia in his sleep. Gansey would throw a hissy-fit. “Man, just–” he paused, rolling the words he was about to say around with his tongue. Did this cross a line, he wondered, inviting Ronan to sleep in the same bed as him. Their relationship was so odd and turbulent that he wasn’t sure. He’d never had a reason to share a bed with a friend before, having never really had friends before Gansey and Ronan, so he wasn’t sure if it was even the norm.

“Just c’mere,” he decided, moving to the bed and slipping under both blankets. He lifted them and gave Ronan a pointed look.

Ronan balked, ears turning bright red under the dim light. He looked angry. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Just,” Adam gestured impatiently. “Come here. It’s too cold for you to sleep on the floor anyway.”

Ronan’s nostrils flared. “Are you fucking–” He grit his teeth. “Is that weird?” he bit out, not looking at Adam. His hands kept clenching and unclenching by his sides.

Adam crooked a brow. “I don’t think so? Why would it be weird?” Ronan growled, jaw tensing up as he started to pace around the small room. “Look, man, if you’re that bothered by it, then I’ll just give you one of these blankets. Goddamn.”

Ronan stopped moving and turned to look at him again. “You’ll fucking freeze, Parrish. I said I got my jacket.”

“That jacket’s not gonna do shit,” Adam argued, getting angry. “Maybe you should stop being such a little bitch about everything.” He couldn’t understand why Ronan was so vehemently against sharing a bed with him. Was it an unspoken line in the “bro-code”? (He imagined what Blue might have to say about that.) Could he smell the Henrietta dirt on his collar?

Ronan’s lips curled into a sneer. “Kettle. Pot.”

“It’s your funeral, Lynch,” Adam snapped, turning so that he was facing the wall and curling into himself. “Freeze if you want.”

For a minute, it was quiet, save for the sound of his own breathing and the occasional creak of the building settling. Then he heard Ronan swear under his breath and move towards the door. Adam figured he was leaving until the lights flickered off and he heard Ronan’s footsteps move closer against, landing more gently this time.

Adam was astutely aware of Ronan’s presence hovering over the side of the bed–of his breathing, of the sound of his knuckles popping as he cracked them.

“You’re sure it’s not weird?” Ronan asked again, softly, self-consciously.

Adam rolled his eyes in the dark and curled tighter into himself. “Fuck if I know, Lynch. You’re the only one making it weird right now.”

“Right,” Ronan hummed, lifting up the blankets and carefully sliding in until they were back-to-back with just an inch or two between them. Adam’s bed was too small to accommodate this comfortably which meant that Ronan was basically leaning off the bed and onto the floor.

“I don’t bite,” Adam muttered as the world got a bit darker and fuzzier. He was so much warmer with Ronan at his back than he had been in weeks.

Ronan grunted, but he shifted so that their backs were firmly against each other and Ronan was fully on the bed. “Night, Parrish,” he said, but Adam was already drifting off to sleep.


End file.
